The Ying To My Yang
by BreakingFree2015
Summary: Modern AU. In an effort to live a normal life, Gwen, an artistic, sweet girl who is recovering from leukemia reluctantly enrolls in Secondary School. She relies on the support of her adopted brother, Merlin, as she attempts to navigate her way among the "normal" teenagers, and her quickly-made, new best friend- the charismatic Morgana, who hides a painful home life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, people! Welcome to this new story, which will be based around the friendships and relationships of Merlin, Gwen, Arthur and Morgana. This is not a slash fic and it focuses more on the friendship of Morgana and Gwen than on that of Arthur and Merlin. The feminist side of me thinks that it's a crime that a lot of us do not stop to appreciate the fact that the BBC gave us two strong female leads (quite rare for them). The story alternates between Gwen and Morgana's point of view.**

**Gwen**:

"Why am I doing this?" The question circulated my mind with a relentless intensity, growing more hungry for an answer with every step I took. I tried to remember all the reasons Merlin, my adopted brother, had given my mother to allow me to do this. The irony of the fact that I was now attempting to use these same arguments to convince myself was not lost on me. _Why am I doing this?_ The confusion and nerves I had been feeling all throughout my sleepless night escalated into full blown-out panic as we reached the looming, formidable gate and I grabbed onto my brother's arm to prevent him from taking me further. Like always, he knew what was on my mind.

"Come on, Gwen," he pleaded with me. "This will be good for you, I know it will. You've always wanted to do this remember? Trust me-this is so much better than staying at home all day, doing nothing." When I still did not appear convinced, he sighed and put his arm comfortingly around my shoulder. "Just try today. If, when go home, you decide you'd rather eat horse dung than step foot in this school again, then you can quit. But I went through hell and back to convince Mum and Dad to let you do this and you sure as heck are not backing out now!" He nudged me playfully, imploring me with his bright eyes to be brave, just this once.

"Sheesh, Tubs, you watch way too much American telly. I feel like it's time for us to limit your exposure to Teen Wolf," I muttered.

"I do not! I watch just as much as the next person. And don't take that tone with Teen Wolf, I'll have you know that Teen Wolf is not just any old program, it's dark and gripping and relatable and heart-wrenching and-" here he paused in his vigour, realising that I had succeeded in distracting him from the matter at hand.

Long story short, two months ago I decided (please note that I was half asleep and therefore should not be held accountable for this horrendous decision) that I wanted some semblance of a normal life and- after a particularly long Disney film marathon- I concluded that going to school would play an essential part in this plan. Then, at two in the morning, drunk on countless new-girl-gets-fittest-boy-in-school repetitive love stories, I decided to announce my ambition to my favourite person in the entire world: Merlin. He in turn, despite my best attempts at sabotage when I'd finally returned to my senses, proceeded to convince my parents to make me attend an entire year in my worst nightmare- a place filled with normal teenagers.

This _fascinating _turn of events in my life led me to this moment, shaking like a leaf in Winter, while Merlin dragged me through the gates of hell and into the front office. The artist in me immediately grimaced at the orange door that was being paired with the pink walls. I mean, seriously, how on Earth did they expect students here to learn with such a poor colour scheme around to torture them? Priorities needed to be straightened here, I determined. However, one look at the man behind the desk told me that I would be dancing naked in Trafalgar Square before I would be voicing my opinion to him, so I kept my mouth shut- not a difficult task since I tended to do that most of the time anyway.

The man glanced over me critically and I grimaced when the long-familiar look of pity washed over his face. I prided myself on being able to read expressions well, and the look of pity was coupled with another old friend: discomfort. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was all the same. People rarely ventured out of their own self-immersed bubbles, and so not many knew how to act around people who made them realise that there were others out there who had received a worse lot in life. I was now used to the unease wafted at me when people were around me, and the fact that from the moment of our meeting, people no longer regarded me as _one of them, _and so treated me accordingly.

While I was staring at a particularly enthusiastic wart on the secretary's nose- Mr Patty, was it?- and pondering with a small amount of sick satisfaction how close a resemblance I could achieve with my sketchbook and best green pencil, Merlin, as always, was handling all the actual interaction. I hadn't even realised that the conversation was over- without me uttering a single world- and that my timetable was now clutched in his grasp. My eyes zeroed in on the words "Monday, period 1: Biology," and a groan escaped my lips. Staying at home all day, doing nothing, was starting to sound better and better.

Merlin smiled, noting my annoyance. "Welcome to Stanford Hill, sunshine. Be glad, I have double Physics."

"But you love Science," I replied, irritated. "Double Physics won't exactly be a hardship for you."

"You haven't met Mrs Devils yet. Let's just say that the lady is aptly named."

I shook my head with a smile, my first real one of the day. He had the ability to always make me smile, and annoying as it was sometimes, I was immensely grateful for it now. We came to a stop outside another door- again with that God-awful orange- and Merlin span around to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Gwenny," he began. "I know you're worried, and yeah, I'm not going to lie, everyone's probably going to be weird around you at first. In fact, most people might not talk to you at all, and others will probably stare way too much-"

"Sorry, is this supposed to make me feel better?" I interrupted. Because if so, I wanted to retract my earlier statement about his ability to make me smile. "Let me finish," he grumbled and I suppressed a smirk at his impatience. "_What I was going to say_ was that, after a while, the hype will calm down and everyone will realise what a cool kid you are. Don't be ashamed, Gwen, and don't try to hide who you are. If they're rude, ignore them, they're twats. Plus, I'll beat them up," he finished, winking goofily. I rolled my eyes. One Summer at the gym and suddenly he was under the ludicrous impression that he was now The Hulk. Growing serious he added "You may even make some real friends here, you know."

I nodded, unsure of how to reply. A small window in the door subjected me to my- peers? Schoolmates? Future tormentors?- and fear returned and increased tenfold. How on earth was I supposed to do this? There had to be a fire alarm or something around here that I could use to my advantage. Or perhaps I could (_accidentally, of course_) overflow one of the ladies' toilets. Health and safety would most definitely require everyone to go home- and preferably never come back. That would be good...  
A slight shove from Merlin brought me back to reality and I stumbled through the door he had just opened. I rubbed my shoulder out of habit, wondering if I would still find the familiar blue marks of bruises there.

"Sorry to disrupt, Sir, I'm just here to drop my sister, Gwen, off. She's new and she has your class first period." Merlin's voice floated in behind me. The middle aged, short teacher in front of me turned around and sized me up with shrewd eyes. He gave Merlin an affectionate nod of dismissal and so, with a comforting touch to my back, the only person I trusted in this room walked out, leaving me feeling imprisoned. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out in protest- even I knew that was socially unacceptable- and instead kept my eyes trained on the curiously scuffed loafers of my new Biology teacher.

"Welcome to Stanford Hill, Gwen. My name is Mr Gaius. We've just started so you haven't missed much, although I am afraid we now have an odd number so you will have to sit by yourself." his eyes twinkled as he said this, as though he knew that this would not exactly be a burden for me. I sighed, inwardly bemoaning my social awkwardness, and made my way to the seat he had pointed out. On the way there- the distance between myself and the seemingly harmless wooden chair felt endless- I noted how quickly all the students averted their eyes as I passed and I repressed another sigh. It was starting to look like fighting cancer would be a piece of cake compared to public school.

**A/N: Well there you have it! Do not be put off by the smatterings of angst and lack of dialogue in this chapter, as it was all about setting up the premise of the situation and Gwen's shy but slightly inwardly sassy character. Next chapter we meet the bubbly and charming Morgana, who's hiding a very painful secret. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just a quick note to say that I have changed some things from the Merlin canon. In my story, Morgana and Arthur are not brother and sister, and it is while giving birth to Morgana that Igraine died, leaving Uther heartbroken. Morgause is also just her friend in this story (and not evil).**

**Morgana:**

I silently stepped over my father's unconscious, splayed body, sighing as I collected the mess of bottles that had formed a fortress around him. The lack of a body next to him made me realise that Katrina hadn't joined him last night in his sick celebration. I bit back a groan at the thought that perhaps they had had an argument: he was always worse when they argued. As I left the house I sent a quick plea to God to look after Dad and make him calmer when I came home from school that day, and instantly felt the the soothing peace that always surrounded me whenever I prayed.

"Game face, baby, game face," I muttered to myself as I approached my bus stop. The woman on the bench gave me a weary look as I sat next to her, and I responded with my best smile. This sent the poor lady into a state of confusion- this was not the kind of neighbourhood where strangers smiled at each other- and I (inwardly) chuckled. That never got old. I was still smiling when I walked into school some time later, and headed for the familiar classroom on the fourth floor, just at the end of the corridor. With every step I took, I felt myself relax more and the stress leave my shoulders, bit by bit.

"Whaddup, homeys!" I crowed as soon as I entered the room, almost giddily. A weekend was too long.

"Seriously, Snow White, we need to limit how many hours you spend watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. This stuff needs to stay on the inside." My friend Arthur, even when he was trying to ruin my fun, was one of the best people I had ever met (despite his arrogant tendencies) and so I refrained from punching him and settled for a wink instead. "Oh don't be such a killjoy," I responded, smirking. "Mithian thinks it's adorable when I think I'm black, right Mith?" I turned to one of my closest girlfriends expectantly.

"Sorry, Morgana," she replied, grinning. " I'm going to have to agree with Officer Krupke. You're so pale you reflect sunlight. Clearly, black-American old school slang is not the best course of action for you." I mock scowled, ruining the effect by linking my arm through hers.

"Why can't you people just let me have my words, yooo?" I drawled, pouting like an idiot.

Mithian chuckled, causing Arthur to slap his hand over her mouth. "Don't encourage her craziness," he hissed, eyes sparkling with (what my ego told me was) suppressed amusement. I opened my mouth, on the verge of saying something incredibly witty (I'm sure), when the bell rang, cutting me off. I groaned, waved at everyone that I hadn't had a chance to greet before dragging Mithian and another good friend, Morgause, to our form room.

"So did you hear about the new girl?" Morgause asked, pulling us to a halt in the corridor.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen her," Mithian replied, turning to face her.

"Neither have I. I really want to meet her!"

"I know, we haven't had a new girl in aaaages. It's just been boys, boys, boys. We're practically becoming a football academy."

"Personally, I don't think I'd have a problem with _that," _Morgause countered, waggling her eyebrows.

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted. "Pull on the reigns and hold your horses, what new girl?"

"I think we also need to limit her exposure to country music. She just has no self control," Morgause told Mithian, who made an approving sound in response.

"Whatever," I retorted, momentarily forgetting what we were talking about, as we began walking to class again. "Haters are my motivators."

Mithian ignored this completely. "Morgana, seriously," she began. "Do you live under a rock? How could you not know that we were getting a new girl?" I smiled wryly at the irony of how accurate her description was of my home, although she would never know that. "Alright, alright Mrs Condescending. You should just marry Arthur and have a family of stuck-up know-it-alls," I replied, rolling my eyes. "One kid can be called Snob and the other can be called Snooty. I can already picture the Christmas cards."

"I like it," Morgause offered, raising her hand.

"Whatever," Mithian said, failing to come up with an adequate response. I smirked, walking into the form room where Mrs Nowella was already reading the morning announcements. "You are late, girls," she scolded while glancing over her glasses at us sternly.

I gave her my most innocent smile. "I'm very sorry, Mrs Nowella. It won't happen again, I promise."

"I should hope so," she grumbled but waved her hand towards the seats, indicating we could sit down without punishment.

"Un-fricking-believable," Morgause muttered. "if I had said that, she would've told me to shut up and join her in detention."

I laughed quietly and whispered back, "what can I say? When you got it, you got it. And when you don't, you get detention." I jumped to avoid her incoming slap and sped to my seat, cackling.

"Hey Morgana," I looked up to find Elyan Utah sat twisted in his seat in front of me, smiling. I smiled back, while rummaging through my bag for some kind of edible sustenance. "Hey, Elyan, good weekend?" I pounced on the bag which I knew held a chocolate doughnut in it. God bless Aldi and their 29p breakfast goodies.

"It was okay, I guess. Adrian's party was really good- you missed a banger. Why didn't you go?" He asked, frowning.

"Really good, huh?" I ignored the question I had no way of answering truthfully. "I guess someone got some action." I teased. he turned an interesting shade of maroon that someone as tanned as his West African self should have never been able to reach and spluttered. "What? N-NO, of course not! I didn't, I swear-I'm single."

I laughed, attractively spraying doughnut crumbs everywhere. "Honey, chill. I was just messing with you." I said, still chuckling slightly.

"I'm not doing anything with anyone, Morgana." He replied, looking at me carefully.

"Obvious, much?" Mithian murmured under her breath, so that only I could hear. I shot her a glare. I had told her-and indeed many other jeering friends- countless times that Elyan's sweetness and chattiness did not mean he liked me like _that. _Couldn't a boy just talk to a girl without people assuming things? I thought people had moved past making ignorant judgments when, oh I don't know, the 20th century came about?

My inner rambling was interrupted by Mrs Nowella's dismissal of the class. "I need some books from my locker," I told the two girls at my desk. "See you second period." On my way to my locker, a body ran at me and tackled me to the ground. "Hey baby!" A female voice crowed in my ear. "Guess what you have now? A whole hour in Chemistry with yours truly. Please try to contain your tears of happiness as we are in a public place and I don't want you to scare the children."

**Panic, fear, _him._**I ferociously fought to get my breathing under control, fighting off the onslaught of emotions and reminding myself that Cathy was my friend, and that she wouldn't hurt me. The conflicting feelings warred within my veins as I desperately struggled to compose myself. After a few moments, I finally managed to offer her a weak smile, anxious to play the role I knew so well. The truly fantastic thing about school was that no one knew anything of the shadier details of my life, and I planned on keeping it that way. Thankfully, Cathy was oblivious to my struggle, wittering on about the new girl. Although I hadn't heard a word- which was a shame as I still didn't know anything about this mysterious new student- I nodded and smiled, agreeing with God knows what.

I sent Cathy to the laboratory ahead of me on strict orders to get the best seats (at the back, by the door) before approaching the object that never failed to frustrate me- my locker. You see, in an effort to appear richer and more "hip" (their words, not mine), Stanford Hill had invested in newer, more modern and therefore more complicated lockers. Gone were the simple lock-and-keys of the good 'ole days, and in their greatly missed places were the torture contraptions known as combination dials. I stared at my own dial, aggravated. How could a simple four-digit number avoid my memory so thoroughly? I was top of my class, goddammit!

The locker next to me slammed shut and an amused voice stated "4683." I turned happily to the miracle that was Gwaine o' Conner and smiled gratefully, not even bothering to be embarrassed at what had now become a regular occurrence- I would forget my combination and Gwaine-with-the-Mane (best hair _ever_) would remind me. Without him, I'd be a book-less wreck. "Thanks, G-Dawg," I said cheerfully while stowing my now accessible Chemistry book into my bag. Of course, I should've known that there was no way he would just leave it there. Gwaine never passed up an opportunity to mock me in good humour.

"Really, Morgana," he began. "It never ceases to amaze me how you can memorise entire chunks of a textbook without even breaking a sweat, and yet you seem to have met your downfall with 4 measly numbers. I mean, really, you'd think you could at least-"

"Goodbye, Gwaine," I interrupted loudly, walking away as his laughter filled the background.

Four lessons later found me walking out of a French lesson, fully prepared to shove a sandwich down my throat before I died of starvation. Unfortunately, luck did not seem to be on my side today, as I was soon accosted by Arthur and the rest of our friends. "So, have you found a suitable fashion editor, yet?" "he asked, falling into step with me. "You told Leon you'd have one by the meeting this lunchtime."

"No, no, no," I moaned, suddenly remembering. "I completely forgot. I didn't even begin to start looking, Leon's going to slaughter me!"

"Just do what I do," came a girl's voice behind me. "And he won't be angry at all. Trust me. A girl knows." I laughed but didn't turn around, calling back "I'm not sleeping with him, Vivian. I think I'll go with a different game plan."

"Your loss, " came the grumbled reply and I shared a smile with Arthur. Viv was known for being a little, well, _promiscuous, _which made her unpopular with a lot of the female population of Stanford Hill-particularly those who had boyfriends- but I adored her.

"You could just sign yourself up to be fashion editor," Mithian suggested.

"Are you kidding me? Morgana already works harder than an elephant in labour. If she does any more, she'll collapse faster than you did when I cut my finger yesterday," Morgause argued, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"Oh shut up," Mithian huffed. "you know I hate blood-"

"Don't you want to be a doctor?" Arthur interrupted, sounding confused. Instead of answering, Mithian looked at me and jerked her head back to the door of the sixth form building. "Look who's here," she grinned.

I looked in the direction she had indicated and felt all the conversation fade into the background. Standing outside the building, leaning on the door and talking to someone inside, was the most beautiful creature to walk this Earth since Jesus himself: Merlin Ambrose. Looking at him was like looking at chocolate cupcakes, or a sunny morning after a month of rain, or an empty homework diary- pretty darn amazing. Despite my disgust at sounding so much like a disney movie heroine, there was something about Merlin Ambrose that turned me into an unintelligible moron, without him even uttering a single word. He was 18, so we didn't have any classes together and we didn't share any mutual friends, but the fact that we'd barely spoken was irrelevant. My friends joked and teased me about him mercilessly, to the point of driving me insane, but I couldn't help it. There was something about him which called to me.

Ignoring the conversation around me, I inched closer to where he stood, ready to get my "Merlin-fix-of-the-day," as Morgause so affectionately dubbed it. In a way, I was grateful that I did not know him. Because we never spoke, my feelings limited themselves to an innocent crush- harmless and uncomplicated. My situation demanded that it never became more. Nevertheless, I let a sigh escape my lips when he flashed the lucky person he was talking to his incredible smile. I swear, smiles as crinkly and dimply as his should be illegal because they cannot be healthy for innocent bystanders (i.e. me).

Feeling curious, I craned my head to glimpse the aforementioned lucky person and my heart staggered to a halt in my chest. For once in my life, someone, or rather _something_ had distracted me from Merlin Ambrose. That something rested on the feet of the person he was talking to- feet which were encased in none other than **Lauren Taylors**. And not just any Lauren Taylors; I'm talking the newest, slinkiest _orgasmic _Lauren Taylors. Now it may seem strange that a pair of shoes had such an effect on me but it was like all my prayers had been answered. Perhaps, I could swing it so that Leon wouldn't kill me after all! These Lauren Taylors were shoes that only belonged to the insanely rich or the insanely beautiful- and always the insanely fashionable. I'd heard enough from the girls to know that. If it were any other pair of shoes, and I hadn't been so desperate, I might have noticed the caramel, tightly stretched skin of the frail-looking owner or the bandanna that clearly indicated a bare head. However, in my state of intense relief, all this escaped me as I whispered a quick thank you to God and made my way quickly towards my saviour.

**A/N: And there we have Morgana! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading, following, favouriting and reviewing this story. I am immensely grateful. I was asked to state the ages of all the characters, and so just to clarify: all the characters introduced so far, apart from Gwaine and Merlin, are 16. Gwaine is 17, and Merlin, Leon and Lancelot (who will later be introduced) are 18. Hope that clears things up!  
**

**Gwen:**

You know how everyone always tells you that the best things in life can come out of what you think will be the worst? It's all lies_. _Lies, lies, _lies_. This entire day had been exactly what I was expecting it to be: absolute hell. I could have handled the fact that no one would ever speak to me (in fact, I was almost hoping for it) if it wasn't for all the _staring. _Hadn't anyone at this school been taught that it was rude to stare constantly **without ceasing**? And it didn't help that I'd already covered most of the curriculum in my lessons at home, because I didn't even have the work to distract me from the pitying gazes and sidelong glances. The teachers weren't much better either; I was either treated like one stern word would break me or I was just ignored altogether. I really didn't want to disappoint Merlin but I couldn't fathom how I could possibly get through an entire year of this.

The bell rang for lunchtime and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to bother Merlin because he would most likely be with the close circle of "lads" he surrounded himself with but I needed him to make me feel better, so I could get through the afternoon without having a nervous breakdown. On the way there, I bypassed a gaggle of students in my year. I had seen some of them in my classes and I instantly knew that they were all typical, easy going, self-assured teenagers. Right in the middle of the group- there were about eight of them- was a girl who instantly caught my eye and made my heart clench in jealousy. The emotion didn't come from the fact that she was _so _beautiful it was unfair, or that she seemed to have no problems being in the spotlight, or that she was chatting animatedly to several equally-gorgeous people, as though she didn't have a care in the world. It came from the long, curly hair that cascaded down her back in a waterfall of ebony black. It was the kind of hair that made people stop and stare, that couldn't be achieved artificially, that made the made the most striking model look plain in comparison. It was the kind of hair that I used to have before the treatment completely destroyed it. I felt like I had been punched in the gut and I renewed my search for Merlin with vigour, blinking back silly tears of nostalgia. It was like looking at the life I could have had if I were normal, and I couldn't stand the reminder.

I found Merlin in the sixth form building- I had permission to go in whenever I needed to, thanks to him batting his eyelashes and pulling some strings- where he was talking to a leggy blonde who was all over him. Not wanting to disturb, I made to turn away but I moved too slowly and he was by my side in a second. "How are you?" He asked, softly. "Has it been okay?"

I surprised both of us by bursting into tears and naming the worry that came from my shameful, inner little girl. "No one wants to talk to me," I sniffed, sounding like a stupid child even to my own ears. "All they do is stare and stare and I hate it!"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, honey," Merlin soothed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Just give them time to get over the shock. They'll get over it soon enough and then they'll be all over you. Just give it some time."

"I don't think I can," I argued, wiping my eyes. "I don't think I can bear-"

"You can and you will," he interrupted firmly, his blue eyes flashing. "If you can get through bloody cancer and still come out strong, this will be a walk in the park. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for, Gwen. You can do this." I nodded, not knowing what to say. "You're an Ambrose," Merlin grinned. "We never give up."

"Oh, jeez," I rolled my eyes, hiding the secret thrill of joy that still coursed through me after all this time, whenever I heard Merlin refer to himself as part of my family. He'd come such a long way from the shy, small boy who wouldn't even look me in the eyes. "Are we going to start singing Kumbayah now?"

Merlin laughed. "Just keeping it real, Gwenny!"

I opened my mouth to retort when a girl's voice swam in from outside the door. "Excuse me?" I walked out to where Merlin was standing and came face to face with the girl with the glorious hair. Figuring she must be one of Merlin's admirers, I averted my eyes and waited for the exchange to be over. However, to my surprise, the girl began to address me with an excited smile. "Hi!" She grinned at me. She was practically vibrating with energy where she stood. "I know you don't know me, and this might be really weird, but are those the new Lauren Taylors?" My mouth dropped open in shock. What? She wanted to ask about my shoes?

I stumbled around my shyness. "Um, yeah. I didn't think many people knew about her." She gave me a look I hadn't received in a long, long time- one of jealousy and I smirked inwardly at the irony.

"You're so lucky," she breathed, reverently. "Those shoes are gifts from God himself. I would sell my soul for a pair. Well-not really, because that's creepy, but you know what I mean..." She continued to ramble on about the possible advantages and ramifications of selling one's soul and I let out a small chuckle. I didn't mind. For some reason, I wanted this girl to keep talking to me. "I'm Morgana, by the way," she offered, still smiling.

I couldn't help but return it. "Gwen."

"Well, Gwen, basically, I'm in a bit of a pickle at the moment," she began. "I'm supposed to bring a new fashion editor to the magazine meeting today, but I completely forgot. I know you're new, so this is probably freaking you out, and you probably want to get settled down first before you join any clubs and whatnot but if you have shoes like those babies you clearly know what you're doing, and would make a banging fashion editor, therefore allowing me to keep my head attached to my neck for just a little while longer. Can you do it?" She said this all very quickly, without stopping to breathe.

It was my turn to be a "starer," and I looked at her, dumbfounded. Was she being serious? If this were a joke...

"Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes," she chanted over and over, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Merlin chuckled, and gave me a slight push, indicating his silent approval. "I'll love you forever and ever," she added, still jumping up and down, like a toddler begging for a sweet. I smiled shyly and nodded my consent, and she let out a squeal of delight, accompanied with a little happy dance. She seemed oblivious to the looks she was receiving, and I sighed, wishing I could be as carefree. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She gushed, dragging me along with her with a refreshing urgency that no had used since before the cancer. I turned back and cheesed at Merlin who gave me a thumbs up and a smugly mouthed "I told you so."

Soon we came to a halt outside a computer room. "You ready for this, amigo?" She asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"Lead the way," I replied, my stomach churning. We walked into the room together, where a serious-faced boy who looked about my brother's age swooped down on us. "You're late," he said pointedly to Morgana, frowning. I shrank back at his expression but it didn't seem to faze Morgana at all.

"You say that like it's something new, Leon," she responded breezily. "Just be glad I didn't go and eat first. And look! I found a fashion editor, just like you asked. This is Gwen. Please hold the applause."

The corners of Leon's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile , making him seem a lot friendlier and he turned his clever grey eyes onto me, stopping briefly at the bandanna on my head. "Alright, set her up," he instructed before walking out of the room.

"Guys, look, we have a new team member!" Morgana announced happily. There was a tense silence while the population of the room stared at me, not knowing what to say. I grimaced, reminding myself that not many people reacted to me the way Morgana had. It was funny how only a few minutes with her had made me forget the stigma which had plagued me for six years.

"Um, guys?" She said questioningly. "It's cancer, not social retardation. She can still talk."

I laughed. Loudly. This girl was just something else, although from the confused looks I was receiving, I guessed that laughter wasn't the expected response. Nevertheless, the comment succeeded in breaking the ice a little and everyone began to relax- some even threw me smiles. I beamed, excited that the blank stares which had followed me around all day were finally being replaced with more welcoming expressions.

"Please excuse her," a tall boy, with a mop of golden hair, called out from the desk he was sitting on. "We're still carrying out an extensive search for the missing part of her brain. The rest of us are a lot nicer, promise." I laughed again, shocked at the amount of times I had done that today, while Morgana grumbled back at him. The room chuckled at their bickering-apparently this was a usual occurrence. "I'm Arthur," he extended to me, smiling.

His blue eyes twinkled at me as I smiled back, vaguely aware that my breath had caught in my throat as I did so. "Gwen," I offered, before drifting off after Morgana. I watched as everyone offered warm greetings to her and polite introductions to me. It was clear from the fondness in all their eyes that Morgana was well loved here and I squashed down on the jealousy that was threatening to run rampant in my chest. Was there anything this girl didn't have?

She led me to a computer next to a boy who was already furiously typing away. "Gwen, this is Jean Pierre, Jean Pierre this is Gwen, our new fashion editor." Jean Pierre flashed me a quick, polite grin before turning back to Morgana. I hid a smile; the boy clearly had it bad but she seemed to be oblivious.

"I really hate that you pronounce my name so incorrectly," he teased, his voice lilting in a slight French accent.

"I pronounce it fine,"

"No, no, Morgana, you pronounce it British. Does the name Jean Pierre sound British to you?"

"Okay then," she sat up straight and turned to face him. "Gwen, back me up if he tries to mess with me. How should I pronounce it?"

"Well, for one, an educated speaker would not pronounce the last letter of the word-"

"Seems a bit rude to that last letter,"

"-focus, Morgana. The name is not John, it's _Jean_. Open your mouth-"

"A fly will get in."

"Was that meant to be funny? You also need to make your "r"s more throaty for the Pierre-"

"Clearly I'll only be able to pronounce your name when I have the flu if you want me to produce that much phlegm."

"You're so difficult!" He cried, holding his hands out in amused exasperation. I noted the playful twinkle in Morgana's eye. Perhaps she reciprocated his affections? "Aren't you averaging an A* in French?"

"Yes, I am, because examiners aren't fussy teenagers who care if I "open my mouth" or bring up enough phlegm to fill a bucket."

I watched the exchange with interest, and feeling brave, decided to add my two cents. "How about you just call him JP? That's a common enough nickname for Jean-Pierre, right?"

"See, Morgana. Gwen pronounces it perfectly," the boy nodded at me approvingly.

"Traitor," she shot at me playfully. " But I like JP, it's cute." He glowed at her words and I again had to suppress a smile at his barely concealed adoration.

"Morgana, I hope for once in your life you're actually going to do what I tell you to instead of messing around. I told you to set up our new fashion editor fifteen minutes ago and you haven't even logged on yet," came the formidable tones of the boy who had been at the door; Leon.

"Oh, lighten up," Morgana tossed behind her shoulder. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." She turned to me and explained "that's Leon, our magazine editor. He's a little uptight about schedules and whatnot, as you can see." I nodded. Indeed I did see.

"Okay, so I don't want to give you any pressure, but it took a lot of coaxing and whining and pestering to get Leon to allow this," she said, looking at me earnestly. "It's up to you what you want the article to be on. You can keep the same format, or you can change it every week, you can do it on celebrity fashion, you can do it on local fashion; it's completely up to you. Oh, and don't think you need to start now, your article isn't even due until next Wednesday. Let me just go and get your computer login information." She then got up to leave and I mulled over her words- and the impressive manner in which she had yet again said them all in one breath- and started to feel excited. As an amateur artist, I loved anything visually creative. To me, fashion was a way of life. I loved, loved, _loved _clothes, and that sense of satisfaction when a crazy-good outfit is put together. I couldn't wait to get started on these articles.

"Here you go," Morgana returned, passing me a piece of paper. As I started to obediently type out all the information into the computer, she turned hers off completely and turned to address me.

"So, here's an ice breaker I've never used before. What type of cancer do you have?"

I stared at her in shock, stunned by her bluntness while she regarded me calmly. "Um, well, I'm actually in remission but Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia."

Her green eyes grew impossibly bigger and she whistled under her breath. "Oh, boy. You'd think if someone had cancer that the doctors would give them a break and at least give said cancer an easier name. I'd assume cancer patients have enough to deal with without learning that mouthful."

I laughed louder than the joke merited, ecstatic at the casual way we were discussing something people normally tip-toed on eggshells about, terrified of upsetting me. "Well, what can you do," I replied, grinning. "You win some, you lose some. At least it makes me sound super smart and knowledgeable and whatnot. I like to use it to wow people on the rare occasion that my winning smile fails to do so."

Morgana threw back her head and let out a loud peal of laughter. My heart soared.

"I like you," she proclaimed. "You're funny _and _you have cute shoes. A hard combination to come by."

"I live to please," I quipped, struggling to contain my inner excitement about the thought of gaining a friend. It would be just my luck for her to drop me when she realised my chronic lameness.

"Your top's lovely too, is that silk?" She asked, fingering the sleeve. The wistful look in her eye did not escape my notice and I briefly wondered if this beautiful girl owned any silk. My artist's eye had noticed that her clothes were not the stereotypical "popular girl clothes." There were no brands, designer labels or gaudy patterns but she made her simple jeans and jumper look beautiful regardless, and I swallowed back my curiosity.

"Yeah, it is. It's one of the only items of clothing my dad has ever brought me that doesn't look like it came from the set of a bad 80's sitcom," I replied, rolling my eyes. I loved my dad with all my heart but bless him, clothes were not his forte.

She laughed (again!) "I'm guessing fashion isn't his thing?"

"No, but he is a criminal prosecutor so can you blame him? It's a good thing he's amazing at pretty much everything else." Her next chuckle was infinitely weaker and I looked up in alarm, trying to gauge what I had done wrong. Strangely enough, her expression was as calm and happy as ever, leaving me to wonder if I was imagining things.

"Well, this top looks great on you," she said. "Figures that even girl who's had to undergo physiological hell would have a nicer body than me." I gaped, once again speechless at the words which coming from anyone else's mouth would have seemed rude and insensitive but just sounded playful and almost like a compliment from hers. Had this perfect girl never looked in the mirror and/or noticed the looks she received from her classmates?

"Okay, Morgana, that's it. I'm putting you by yourself if you can't work next to someone like a mature individual," the editor called out. I giggled as she began to protest passionately ("such accusations! This is discrimination. Is it because I'm white?") but stood regardless.

"See you later, Gwen," she grumbled. I waved at her shyly before turning back to my computer, smiling softly. I didn't stop smiling all day.

** A/N: And they meet at last! Thus begins Gwen's journey to confidence and self-acceptance. Next chapter we explore some of the demons lurking in Morgana's life which she desperately tries to hide. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. This is my first time writing a fanfic, and so your feedback has been very encouraging.**

**Warning- this is a much darker and more serious chapter. It contains hints of domestic abuse, both physical and mental, and so if that bothers you please do not read.**

**Morgana:**

I stood outside of my house, searching inside myself to gather up the courage I knew I would need. Every normal, happy thought that had been occupying my brain- Vivian's face when a substantial load of physics homework had been dumped on us this afternoon; Merlin Ambrose's cheekbones; my new, enchanting yet shy friend Gwen-had been cruelly erased and replaced with the sheer panic that I bitterly hated yet always experienced when in the proximity of the house in which I slept.

Taking deep, calming breaths, I attempted to force my feet to complete the last few steps towards the front door and failed miserably. God, I was so goddamn **_weak. _**An overwhelming urge to cry, to just sink to the floor and sob uncontrollably, hit me with full force but I wrestled it back angrily. How could it be, that after all these years it _still_ took me so long to enter my own home? Was I really so pathetic?

I was sure that if I ever talked to anyone about my... domestic situation, they would find my thought processes incredibly odd. I'd heard many a time that children from "unhappy" homes spent all their time obsessing over the pain, making few friends and lacking the motivation to participate in many areas of life. I was the bizarre opposite, a perpetual abnormality. I enjoyed school and achieved more than acceptable grades, adored talking to the other people and I especially _loved_ my friends. School was my happy place, my oasis in the desert. I found it surprisingly easy to pretend to have a normal life inside its ugly walls and it was almost too easy to forget about _**him.** _Not a single thought of my father crossed my mind when I was at school, unless someone made a comment that was directly related to him, or something happened to bring back a familiar nightmare.

And yet, even though it had been _**years, **_I still had to fight back tears as I took in the crumbling brick building. Surely I should be immune by now? Hadn't I conditioned myself to be strong about it yet? I shook these thoughts out of my head and, steeling myself, entered the house with a quick, almost unconscious sign of the cross. I needed divine intervention to handle _him._

I crept into the house, attempting to sneak past him but was soon pulled to a halt by his overpowering, deep voice: "And where do you think you're going, eh?"

His figure came out of the living room and I glanced wearily at his sneering face, trying to assess his mood in order to formulate a safe response. The sickly sweet stench of alcohol oozed from his clothes and I tried- God, I _**tried**_- to tamper down the fear that rose in my throat as I caught sight of the feral look in his eye. "I was just going to get a head start on some homework," I replied quietly, while attempting to put some space between us. He didn't allow it, dragging me back to him by a thick clump of my hair. I bit down on my lip to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape as I felt the roots of my hair protest against my scalp. My father did not often put his hands on me, preferring to resort to an endless stream of verbal abuse. In a way it was almost worse-not knowing which I punishment I would be subjected to everyday.

"Like hell you are," he growled. "Katrina's coming over and this house is in no state to greet her. You're cleaning it, **now**." I knew better than to argue, torn between relief that he and Katrina had not fought after all, and revulsion at their twisted relationship. I nodded, as it was best to say as little as possible around Uther le Fay, and tried not to make a sound as he dragged me to the small living room that was littered with broken bottles and various other forms of rubbish.

"Get to work then, little bitch," he spat at me while making himself comfortable on the sofa.

I began to clean immediately, struggling to block out the tirade of vicious curses and pointed insults that left my father's mouth as I worked. It was all in vain; every word cut me like a blunt knife, and so I instead focused on not showing any response to the words. I felt my face slip into the familiar blank expression I had mastered after years of living under this scarred and rotting roof, while he continued in a gleeful tone that hurt far more than any of his words ever could.

"Look at how pathetic you are," he jabbed, ruthlessly. I shuddered as I felt his cold eyes burn into my back. "you can't speak, you can't even look at me- you wouldn't last one minute in the real world, you little piece of _**shit**_. You're lucky I even allow you to live here or you wouldn't even be _**alive** _right now. Is there _**anything you can do?** _Oh right, how could I _**possibly** _forget. You's perfectly capable of killing your own mother." I flinched at his last words while he let out a cruel, humourless laugh, and I attempted to speed up my task with vigour.

It was in the early hours of the morning when I finally managed to finish my homework. It had taken me hours to clean the tiny building of all the junk that had accumulated over the period of one day and a further hour of making Katrina and my father dinner, after which they spent the evening engaging in a game of "who-can-maim-Morgana-the-most." Needless to say, I was exhausted.

Ignoring the grunts and moans coming from the room next door, I slipped into the minuscule bathroom and examined the bruise that had appeared on my right cheek, courtesy of my father's favourite belt. Katrina had particularly enjoyed that one. I sighed, as I hardly ever bruised, even when the blows were particularly painful. Apparently, I wasn't so lucky this time. Hopefully, no one would notice that I would be wearing make up tomorrow.

I stared at the mirror, hard. No matter what pain he tried to inflict on me, I did not want my father- my _**only** _living relative- to be condemned for his actions. After everything I'd done, everything I'd _**taken** _from him, I owed it to him. I did not want to be a weak, spineless _child _who could not endure a few harsh words and a little bit of physical contact_, _particularly when they were deserved. There were innocent children out there who were beaten from dawn to dusk _daily _without fail and yet did not utter a whimper or word of complaint. And so I returned to my room, got down onto my knees, and prayed in earnest for the strength that I did not possess, and forgiveness I did not deserve.

_**I'm sorry, Mum.**_

**A/N: And there we have an insight into the less picturesque aspects of Morgana's life. I never wanted this story to be one-dimensional, and so while there will be humour, lightheartedness and fluff, there will also be angst and drama. Gwen and Morgana carry a lot of baggage in their lives. **

**On a lighter note, I hope you all had a fantastic Easter. **

**Coming up: Gwen discovers Morgana has an indisputable crush on a certain adopted brother of hers... (Also for all the romantics out there, there will be some Arthur-Gwen interaction).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has been reading this. I know the majority of the fandom comes on fanfiction to read Merthur fics (I too enjoy a good old MerlinxArthur romance), and so I'm amazed that some people are still reading this story. **

**J****ust to clarify, I will be adding in details about Merlin and Arthur's pasts, as well as explaining more about Gwen and Morgana's. Enjoy!**

Gwen:

"So if I have nine bottles in one hand, and sixteen bottles in the other, what do I have?"

"A membership with Alcoholics' Anonymous, I hope," Morgana muttered under her breath, forcing me to cough in an attempt to cover yet _**another** _laugh. I was twenty minutes into my first Maths lesson at Stanford Hill and Morgana had had me in stitches the entire time with her continuous commentary. Let's just say that it was a good thing I had covered this part of the syllabus already because I had not listened to a single word that had come out of Mrs Sungleton's mouth today (thank God for home schooling- Maths wasn't exactly my best party trick).

"I'm sorry, Morgana, do you have something to share with the class?" The stern teacher regarded her stiffly.

"I was just mentioning to Gwen here, that I thought that with the unequal groups of bottles, you had an **_ingeniously_ **unique version of an unbalanced equation," she answered sweetly, with an innocent smile to match. Mrs Sungleton grumbled out an affirmative response, narrowing her eyes at the barely-concealed sarcasm, before turning back to the board and using the bottles theory to write out a "real" Maths problem.

"You know," I whispered to her, one eye on the volatile teacher. "Shocking as it sounds, I don't think Mrs Sungleton likes you very much."

A radiant smile graced Morgana's face, as though she was proud of the fact, and she replied (quite loudly, I might add. Apparently discretion was not something Morgana le Fay liked to utilise) "Why would that be shocking?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because I've only been here three days and I've already noticed that every teacher in this school practically wants you as their offspring- with the exception of Mrs Sungleton."

Instead of the smile and casual retort I had been expecting, her face dropped. I frowned, trying to find the source of her mood change but was distracted when an answer came from the other side of Morgana. "That's because our little firecracker here threw a calculator at Mrs S's head in year 7," the girl told me, leaning forwards conspiratorially.

I attempted to smother another round of laughter with my hand before giving up and giggling quietly. "No way!"

"Way," the girl confirmed, nodding solemnly. "First day and all. That was over four years ago but Mrs S's feathers are still a bit ruffled by it."

"Mithian," Morgana moaned, the joking demeanour back again. Had I once again imagined the change in her expression? "I thought we agreed not to tell people about that anymore." She turned to me with wide, imploring eyes. "You have to understand that there was a legitimate reason for this, Gwen. My actions are completely justified."

"Oh, I'm sure," I murmured placatingly, still marveling over how comfortable I felt around Morgana- enough to joke around in a way I only really did with my family. A number of hours over three days had been enough to put me more at ease with her than I was with people I had known for _years _and I was in turn more comfortable with _**other** _people when I was around her. It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Okay, well for starters, I hadn't eaten any breakfast that day so I was already a little grumpy-"

"You didn't have breakfast last Thursday and yet I don't remember any inanimate objects being shot at unsuspecting innocents," Mithian interjected.

Morgana waved her off. "Whatever Mith, that was different. As I was **_saying_**, I hadn't eaten anything so I was slightly, let's say, _**volatile** _that day, and_-"_

"Volatile doesn't even begin to cover it. We were all afraid that one wrong move from someone would turn her into The Incredible Hulk-"

"Shhh, Mithian, dearest, it's not cute to exaggerate. So, Gwen, when, on the **_very first _**day of school, this utter beast of a teacher decided that she wants to give sweet, nervous little eleven year olds homework that consisted of **_two pages'_** worth of questions _**for the next day**, _something just had to be done, you know? I just couldn't let that happen and still retain a clean conscience."

"How noble of you," I remarked dryly, amused at the thought of a shorter Morgana sitting in the same classroom, fuming silently.

"Yes, yes it was, thank you. And Mithy here was sitting next to me and I distinctly remember her whimpering-"

"I do **_not_ **whimper!"

"-**_whimpering_** about a baptism that she had to attend and how scared she was about not being able to find the time to do the homework and something inside of me just snapped. So I took my calculator, and with all the power in my little year 7 arm, I flung it straight at the beast's head so that she would know who's boss," she concluded proudly.

"So let me get this straight," I choked out between chuckles. "You **_assaulted_ **a teacher because she was doing her **_job_**?" Mithian began to laugh as I gasped for air and Morgana mock-scowled at me.

"You're getting it all wrong- I was a freedom fighter, Gwen! It was epic!" She insisted, earnestly.

"Except," Mithian wheezed out, holding her side. " She has the worst aim **_ever_**, so it just ended up bouncing off the door and not going anywhere near Mrs Sungleton's head."

Tears streamed down my face as I managed to gasp out, "oh dear. Kind of takes away from the drama of it all, don't you think?"

"No!" Morgana protested. "You should've heard what a _**bang** _it made when it bounced off the door. The impact created more drama, _**obviously.**_Do you not pay attention in English lit? Steinbeck would be ashamed of you."

"Okay, okay," I sighed, humouring her. "Well, did it work? Did you release your class from the inexcusable burden that is homework?"

Morgana opened her mouth sheepishly but was cut off by Mithian's swift snort. "Hah! If memory serves, we actually got an extra page, did we not, dearest freedom fighter?"

I laughed outright at Morgana's dejected face and reached over to pat her hand. "Aaw, don't sulk, Morgana, I'm sure you had everyone's best intentions at heart."

"I am _**not** _sulking!" She countered with an easy smile, reaching over to poke Mithian in retribution.

"_**Miss Ambrose**_," came the snooty voice of the woman at the front of the class. " I appreciate that you have only been with us for a few days but you should know that we have a no tolerance policy towards idle chat in class time. Please refrain from conversing while I am teaching in the future."

I quickly adopted an appropriately apologetic smile, waiting for her to turn around again.

"Dang, Mor. She's only been here a few days and you're already getting her into trouble," Mithian snickered.

Morgana, however, did not seem to hear her as I turned to see her facing me, her mouth gaping open.

"Ambrose?" She squeaked out, eyes bugging out of her face.

Confused, I answered hesitantly. "Yeah? My, uh, my surname?"

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh," she blabbered frantically, albeit quietly after receiving a pointed glare from "The Beast." "That's why you were with him yesterday...and the clothes...Ambrose..._**so fit**_...oh my gosh!"

I furrowed my eyebrows, attempting to understand her nonsensical mumbles. "Um, Morgana? I'm going to need just a little bit more clarification. I don't speak babble."

"You're Merlin Ambrose's sister!" She exclaimed, almost accusingly, her eyes wide.

"I apologise?" I noted absently that she hadn't said "adopted sister" like most people did.

"He's just so-" she stopped mid-gush and to my immense surprise, a faint blush began to creep onto her pale cheeks. It was the first time I'd seen her present any signs of self-consciousness.

Mithian, meanwhile, was chortling in her seat. "Oh this is brilliant, this is actually _**bloody** _brilliant. God, Morgana- what are the odds?"

"Oh my gosh, Mith, please stop talking."

"Still confused over here," I interjected, watching, bemused, as Morgana's cheeks grew steadily more flushed. Mithian leaned over to me, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Basically, Morgana over here-"

"Mith, if you love me at all, _**please**_-"

"-since the very first time she pulled her head out of the clouds and realised that boys, y'know, _**existed**_-"

"No, no, no, this isn't funny. This is _**not** _banter, I repeat, this is _**not**_-"

"-has had the biggest, lamest, all-consuming crush on Merlin Ambrose."

There was a moment of silence, then-

"_**MITHIAN!**_"

I stared blankly at Morgana as she clapped her hand over the giggling Mithian's mouth, steadfastly not meeting my eyes.

I mean, it's not like I hadn't experienced this before-more than a few girls had been drawn to Merlin's endearing charm in the past, and in any other circumstance I might have found Morgana's embarrassment amusing. But a sliver of doubt began to worm its way into my mind without my permission, eroding my amusement- would my connection to Merlin be the only thing that interested Morgana now? Would she use me to get to him? I was not okay with losing the first to treat me as though I was _**normal**_- the one person who, from the very moment we met, did not define me by my cancer.

I decided that going for the casual approach was the best option here. After all, I didn't know for sure that she would drop me, did I? She had talked to me before she knew Merlin was my brother.

_Only because you were standing next to him at the time, _a voice inside my head reminded me nastily. I ignored it happily.

"It's okay, Morgana," I reassured her, smiling weakly. "I know how that story goes. I've had a thing for his best friend Lancelot since the first time Merlin brought him round when I was four."

"Lancelot? He's the quiet one who looks like his skin tastes of honey, right?" Morgana asked, looking thoughtful. I nodded in affirmation-to both parts of her question. His skin really did look like the perfect topping on my morning pancakes.

"Good choice," Mithian added approvingly, turning to Morgana.

"Great arse."

"Solid 9/10"

"Back off, ladies," I interjected teasingly. "The hispanic one's mine."

"_**Is** _he, now?" Morgana asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed, despondent. "No, he's only ever seen me as Merlin's kid sister. Not to mention chemotherapy tends to really kill your game, what with the puking and the hair loss and the general inability to do much."

Morgana laughed loudly, drawing looks from all around, some curious, some irritated. Mithian raised her eyebrows at me, clearly surprised, amusement reluctantly pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The remainder of the lesson was spent playing a game of Extreme Noughts and Crosses (which quickly became very heated and almost ended Mithian and Morgana's friendship), and by the end of it, I felt like I had also gained a friend in Mithian. She was sweet and witty, and most importantly, _**didn't stare**_. It was clear from the way that the two girls interacted with each other that Mithian and Morgana had been friends for a long time, and yet they never once made me feel inferior or excluded.

When the bell rang to signal the beginning of lunch, I politely declined Morgana's offer to eat with them, as I had done everyday previously. The canteen, bustling with the energy (and stares. God forbid we forget the stares) of the entire population of Stanford Hill, was still too much for me to handle. Instead, I made my way to the room which had swiftly become my save haven: the art room. Not a soul frequented the small, viciously colourful place during lunch, and so I was safe in the knowledge that I would be completely alone and free to relax into the most calming activity of all: painting. I never made a conscious decision of what I would paint, preferring instead to allow the image to creep into my mind of its own accord, and my hand to move across the blank canvas without my permission. When I painted, I felt free.

When I painted, I felt infinite.

In my excitement to get there and recover that blissful feeling, I failed to pay attention to my surroundings and was soon met with a hard body that slammed into me, sending both my things and my person tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, **_shit_**, sorry, sorry, sorry," came a deep, apologetic voice that I would recognise anywhere-Arthur. Strong hands smoothed down my arms, lifting me easily to my feet. "Are you okay?" he asked me earnestly, while scrambling to retrieve my fallen possessions.

"I'm fine," I reassured him quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder to halt his movements. He stopped moving immediately, glancing at the hand on his shoulder, which I quickly removed, embarrassed. I hadn't meant to put my hands on him, but it had felt infinitely wrong to see him on the floor, scrambling around to pick up my things. My heart felt warm as my eyes met his grey-blue ones. His hair golden hair had formed a haphazard halo around his face, and for a long moment I forgot how to breathe.

"Thank you," I smiled at him, gesturing to the books he now had in his arms. He blinked at me for a moment before springing into action and handing the books over with an oddly blank expression on his face.

"Where are you off to, anyway?" he asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes. My fingers twitched at my side. "Canteen's the other way. It's the best thing about this place- why are you putting distance between yourself and its glorious ham and pineapple pizza?"

I chuckled. He was just like Merlin. "Ham and pineapple?" I wrinkled my nose. "What business does a _**pineapple** _have on a **_pizza_?"**

"Oh not you too," he groaned. " I had hoped that you would have fantastic taste buds like me, and that you would recognise greatness for what it is."

It seemed he and Morgana shared a liking for dramatic sentences. "I've got food with me. I'm just heading on to the art room." I blurted, feeling my cheeks heat up. Thank fuck I had dark skin.

"Ah, an artist then?" He looked genuinely curious.

"Amateur at best."

"You'll have to show me some of your stuff sometime. I don't have a creative bone in my body but I'd love to see your work."

I stared at him. Cute boy said _**what**_, now?

I involuntarily stuttered an affirmative response (something incredibly lame which I don't care to remember like "uh, o-o-okay") and he winked at me before staggering down the hallway.

Huh? What just happened? Clearly my head had taken quite a bruising when I fell, because I seemed to be hallucinating scenarios where beautiful boys talked to me and appreciated art.

I made my way to the art room with no further incidents, head reeling. I was still slightly dazed when, an hour later, I looked at the canvas in front of me to see a figure who was unmistakably Arthur-encased in chainmail and striking red- with a hand positioned carefully on a sword at his belt, looking up at me with an expression of such protectiveness and unbeatable power, my breath caught in my throat. I had drawn Arthur as a _**warrior**_.

I puzzled over the painting, wondering why I had drawn it, and why it looked so disturbingly _**real**_- so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even register the fleeting, dark shadow which fell suddenly over the canvas until it was gone a moment later.

**A/N: So a bit of mystery has entered the tale, dun dun duuuuuun. Hope you enjoyed this installment. Next up: Morgana spends some time at Arthur's and finally meets the object of her infatuation. **

**Unfortunately, as many of you know, it is exam season and so it will be at least a month until the next chapter is posted. If you want to read anything of mine before then, I will be posting some one shots that I have written previously.**

**Good luck to everyone who has exams! I'm praying for you all.**


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